New Model City

As a gunfight ensued, Adolfo along with Marco came roaring onto the sidestreet in their truck. 


"Get in the car and follow me!" Adolfo shouted out of the window as he slowed down beside Kenny before throwing the truck into high gear and gunning it, smashing through the barricade of sedans and sending the Abandano soldiers scattering for cover. 
 
Kenny heard Adolfo's voice and nodded, running to the driver's seat of the car. He felt a sharp pain in his side but ignored it, climbing into the truck and racing the truck after Adolfo. Kenny felt hot liquid dripping down his side and tried not to look. It was obvious he was bleeding, but he didn't want to look. If he looked he'd pass out or vomit. @Shireling
 

Marci Orsini Baresotti 
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Marco was in the back seat of the car, his gun out and him hanging in for dear life. He opened the window and tried to fire what he could. It was awefully hard to aim. He heard a few bullets that had obviously but the car. He fired a round as the car slowed, hitting a soldier in the knee. His original target was the man beside him hwoever the car had jolted as it slowed. He saw the man collapse as Kenny hopped aboard the truck.
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​


"Carry the boss, you idiot!" He cried out without thinking.
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​


He fired a few more shots, one hitting the road and the other a sedan window. He had to reload and climbed back into the car, hoping he wouldn't be thrown out of the truck. He was barely hanging on, not bothering to even reload in fear of pulling the trigger by mistake. He ducked in the truck hanging onto whatever he could.
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Darcy K.
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Darcy's car sped off, not following the Marinello's (despite her own desires to unload a gun or two and maybe...help.), but instead continuing down the road, to a place called 'Spritzers', where her fiancé (but not for long) waited for her. 
​


This would need to be quick if she was going to host Adolfo for dinner,
​


She'd also need to make it out alive. 
​
 
The small caravan was joined later on by another car full of Marinello soldiers dispatched to ensure the Don got to the hospital. People on the sidewalks threw themselves into alleys and behind benches in fear as the powerful motors propelled the three vehicles down the street, Adolfo displaying veteran driving skills as he whipped the Ford around the corner and pushed the truck to the limit, pounding the floor when he pushed in the clutch and forcefully jamming the gearshift into the next gear.


"Listen," Adolfo said to Marco, "they're probably gonna be all over us on the bridge. Aim steady."


With a sharp right turn, they turned onto the South Bridge that would take them into Old Town and to the hospital. As if on cue, two sedans pulled in from the sidestreet and their motors hummed as the cars got up to speed. One of the cars got up beside the last Marinello car, and Adolfo watched as his men rammed the side of the sedan, forcing them into the side of the bridge. The other car sped up on the left side and the passenger rolled down the window to pop his head out with a pistol. Bullets shattered the back glass of Adolfo's truck as he aimed for their heads.


"Marco! Take those sons of bitches out!"








Carnegie Central Rail Station
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New Limmerick
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Across town, the train had come right on time and awaited Eliza @Tori Bradley and Lorenzo @ReverseWells at the station, but something was obviously amiss. For starters, the police sirens were getting farther away from them, not closer. And secondly, the rail station was almost entirely empty. The 12:45 for Tallahassee was about to leave the station, but very few passengers were milling about. It just seemed like a precarious situation. As they approached the platform, they could hear some men talking.


"Yeah, I heard someone had it in on Don Marinello. My sister was out buying fruit today, and she says the old man got shot up pretty bad."


"Why should we care, he was just a pisan eh?"


The other man shrugged. "At least he was an honest thug."
 

Marco Orsini Baresotti
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​


He was tired of being thrown around in the backseat if the car. He held onto his gun and the seats for dear life. As the car turned the corner, he slipped and crashed into the seat cushions, an awefully unpleasant experience. He managed to get himself back up after hearing the Underboss' comment.
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​


"Yeah, no kidding sir " as he got up and steadied his gun on the side of the car.
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​


He fired his BAR gun, aiming for their tires. If they couldn't move, it'd be easier to get away. He had to duck and reload at first. As soon as he got finished reloading he kept firing at the sedans, aiming for their heads popping out. He was pretty sure he had killed a man in the driver's seat and shit another in the hand. Hell was he good at gunfights. He started popping some more rounds, hitting another tire and repeatedly ducking from fire. Bullets hit the door more than ever and he wouldn't be able to fire back without being shot himself.
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Darcy K.
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Darcy had already made it home, quickly calling up her big brother for backup (which he begrudgingly provided) and a few family friends. She simply said a friend had been shot and needed protection to the hospital. Sure enough, the Kelly's slick black cars showed up along with flat beds of men packing firepower out the wazzo. 
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The Marinellos would win this shoot out for sure. For the other side, it was suicide.
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The resulting noise of their weapons sounding was like a 21 gun salute, over and over again. 
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An Irishman slipped in beside Marco.
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"Top 'o the mornin'!" He said excitedly, grinning behind a well trimmed ginger moustache. The man was a walking stereotype, but a damn good shot. 
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Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco was in a constant loop if firing and ducking. He could barely get shots out before having a hailstorm if bullets come at him. The window's glass had already shattered through the door. He was pretty sure he hit another man in the chest area though he had no idea where. It was too quick of a glimpse before being shot at. It was one of the cone of being a great shot.
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"God, how many of these bastards are there?" He exclaimed. He the heard the undeniable sound of an Irishman. He half expected it to be a leprechaun by the sound of the man's voice.
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"You're shitting me..." He mumbled. He had the slight urge to laugh at the man who was indeed a walking leprechaun. Well, he talked and acted like one. He certainly was dressed as a mobster however. He was slightly dussapointed the Irishmen did not have bagpipes though perhaps that would be more scottish. He smiled, "How're them potatoes?"
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It was in a sarcastic manner and very jokative. He kept firing in cover. More bullets came his way and eventually he couldn't stick a finger out or risk getting shot. The street was a warzone.
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@Rui
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The Abandano cars dropped off the chase, and the Kellies seemed content to stop and finish them off. The air grew silent, except for the roar of the wind as they sped down the bridge at a hundred miles an hour, dodging slow moving traffic. 


Exiting the bridge in the Old Town district, two policemen on motorcycles turned on their lights and moved to the front of the procession of cars to give a police escort, as they could tell they were trying to get to the hospital as Adolfo flashed the headlights at them. St. Mary Catholic Hospital rose up at the end of Mott Street. 


Stopping in front of the imposing, red brick structure, two doctors and a nurse rushed down from the steps and pulled the Don gently from the back of Kenny's car. The policemen got off their bikes and approached Adolfo as he got out of the truck and dashed to help the doctors move his father. 


"He gonna be alright?" One of the cops said. It was obvious he meant something other than what he had plainly said. 


"Thank you, for your services, officers. You're an honor to your uniform." He said, placing fifty dollar bills in each of their palms. 


Another car pulled up, and the Marinello capo, Napoleon Bonnafacio, got out and rushed over to Adolfo. 


"Is he alright?" 


"I don't know," Adolfo said tensely, beginning to lose his composure. Napoleon nodded and walked past him. By now, most of the soldiers had gotten out of their cars and so Adolfo approached them and clapped his hand on Kenny's shoulder. 


"I will not forget what you all did for my father today." He said, his voice tense. Then he turned and walked inside the hospital. Mr. Bonnafacio appeared again in the doorway. 


"Go home, you all." He said, addressing the soldiers. "You earned it. Meet back at the Compound tomorrow." 


The door shut again. 


St. Mary's Hospital
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Foyer
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Adolfo winced as he heard his father groaning in the next room. The desk attendant, a marmish middle aged woman, smiled at him and asked him to fill out some paperwork, which he did begrudgingly. 


After turning in the papers, he lit a cigarette a joined Mr. Bonnafacio who was leaning against the wall by the phones. 


"You gonna call Nestore?" 


"Of course." Adolfo murmured as he began lifting the receiver to his ear. 


"Operator, I need line 0-324." 


"Putting you through now." 


A mechanical dial tone began to sound as the phone rang in Nestore's law office. @Vudukudu
 

KENNY TORRES
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Kenny couldn't remember most of the drive. The stress of the situation seemed to have erased those memories. He pulled up to the hospital and the Don was taken out of the back of his truck. Kenny slowly got out of the driver's seat, seeming rather lost. He rubbed the back of his head before a sharp pain hit his side. He winced and grabbed his rib, feeling hot blood spill over his fingers. He forgot about the cut.


Kenny felt a hand clap his shoulder and he jumped. Adolfo spoke to the group, thanking them despite the fact that Kenny believed he had failed. In his defense, his capo did go MIA, but he failed to keep the Don from being shot. He heard someone give him an order to go home and Kenny nodded. Home. Where he can lay down, take care of his wound, and take a nap. Where he can relax. Home would be nice. 
 
Nestore glances up from his paperwork, across the desk where his phone line had been installed. He utters a string of Italian curses, then cuts himself off abruptly. By god, who was he turning into? This.. behavior, was beneath him. This work was destroying him. 


He allows the phone to ring a few more times before standing and walking around the desk. His left hand plucks it from its resting place and lifts it to his ear, while his right hand deftly pours another glass of scotch. "This is Nestore Guagenti of Guagenti Law Practice. Who am I speaking with?" He inquires, his tone firm and business-like. He'd gotten all too good at his own particularly odd brand of living two lives - one as a business law practitioner, the other as a mafioso. 


Nestore raises his glass and sips quietly, feeling the warm, liquor burn travel down his throat. If Valentina were here, she'd berate him. His drinking habit had spiraled to previously unseen levels in recent weeks. Between being a fairly religious man, and not having the stomach for war, this had been strenuous. 
 
"Nestore, it's Adolfo. Dad's been shot. He's at St. Mary's." The Underboss's words came through the phone cold and hollow and full of bitter hurt. 
 
Nestore blinks, and in an instant, his half full glass tumbles to the floor and shatters. 


"Give me just a moment, my boy. I expect every detail down to the type of shoes the shooter was wearing once I get there." Nestore replies curtly, his tone communicating an unspoken "Am I clear?"


"I will be there as fast as my legs can carry me to a car. Hold fast, Adolfo, and steel your heart. Blood begets vengeance, and we shall have our gluttonous fill of it." He adds with a hiss, then gingerly places the phone back on its stand to end the call. 


With a huff, Nestore retrieves his pistol from its drawer, tucks it into his coat, and sets off. It doesn't take long to hail a taxi, and within minutes, Nestore is on his way to St. Mary's. 
 
Philip is in the gutter, the downtown gutter drunk and still drinking. He heard about the truck with the don. As a soilder he should have been there. He might get wacked for not being there. But besides the point he was laying on the ground hiding away from the mob.


     He wanted to just forget his involvement in the mob. But he needed the money, the money to survive. He needed to show himself worth the trouble of keeping. But in his current state be could barely move. After a good 20 or 40 minutes he sobered up and got up looking around himself. Philip eventually went inside of his shanty and went to sleep.
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Eliza allowed herself to take a deep breath and smile as they reached the train station. As she jumped from the car and followed her lover inside, she thought of all the opportunities she could have now. That is, until they stepped onto the platform. That was when Eliza turned her attention back to her surroundings. Despite the fact that it was 12:45 on a week day, there were very few passengers waiting on their trains. And when Eliza paid closer attention, she found something else amiss. The police sirens weren't getting louder; instead, they were fading. As far as she could tell, they were heading for the Italian Quarter. Eliza frowned, heading towards a couple of men who were talking nearby. Maybe if she listened, she might hear something about what was going on.
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"Yeah, I heard someone had it in on Don Marinello. My sister was out buying fruit today, and she says the old man got shot up pretty bad," Eliza could hear one of the men saying. Her heart stopped dead in her chest and dropped, her breathing slowing as worry clawed at her. Subtly, she brushed her hair away from her ear, angling her body away from there so you didn't seem like she was listening in. "Why should we care, he was just a pisan eh?" said the other man. Eliza flinched. The first man shrugged. "At least he was an honest thug." Eliza moved away, reaching her arm out to steady herself on a nearby bench.
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[SIZE= 18px]What had happened to her father?[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 18px]@ReverseWells[/SIZE]
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Marco Orsini Baresotti
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Marco was still trying to get overt the events that had just unfolded. He had already finished two cigarettes and was on his third. The smoke was starting to get to him. He leaned on a wall in the compound. The Spider would give them hell for this. He had killed three that he had counted and wounded more though the adrenaline seemed to have wore off and his mind getting set back to reality.
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He was tapping his feat. He had his cigarettes though he wanted some booze. He dared not drink in case he was needed again. His gun leaned beside him and his pistol still in his coat. He decided it would be best if he wrote something about it to keep his mind off. The joy of smoking seemed to have worn off him at the moment.
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He decided he would grab his notebook from his coat and a pencil from a table. He wrote about the events that unfolded and his thoughts. It definantly helped him steady himself. He was used to gunfights however the Don getting shot was certainly his first. He hadn't failed yet however it wasn't saying much as this was one of the first missions he had been trusted upon with the Underboss and Don. If this would ever be noticed by time and history, let his journal document it for all to know that villains of the Abanados.
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KENNY TORRES
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When Kenny got back to the compound, he found a corner of an empty room to sit in and buried his face in his knees. He was in pain from the cut in his side and from the never-ending headache that had plagued him for weeks. He couldn't face anyone right now. Not when he's weak and injured. Kenny just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. He knew that wasn't what he really wanted, but it was what he wanted to want. 
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He closed his eyes. But the moment he did so, he started reliving the whole event. The gunshots echoed in his mind and the blood of the Don haunted him. He opened his eyes, feeling his heart racing, and sighed heavily. He was falling apart and he didn't know how to get himself together. Kenny noticed that he had one hand on his gun and was fiddling restlessly with the trigger. Maybe he really did want to off himself.
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"NO!" Kenny shouted, sliding the gun away from him. He needed sleep, but Kenny couldn't get himself to sleep without reliving the events that passed that day. He just needed someone to knock him out, but no one appeared available nor willing.
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T H E   S P I D E R
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Time passed as Clark kept staring right into the horizon, watching it devour the sun once more. A perfect location on his own hideout at the outsides, a shaft hiding in the woods and bushes, but near another house that seem quite old and deteriorated. The car beside him was cold from long time now, giving away that he had been there since he arrived, at the roof of his own paradise, watching the best scene that is worth looking to. As the wings of the sun fade away, his thoughts arrive, "It's only a matter of time." the voices shifted, "No, it's a matter of what you do in that time." 






The conversation on his mind happened years ago, when he was still a young kid, repeated as well as teenager "You taught me that, what is most important is to know a man." Clark said on his younger age, wearing some glasses as he reads his books. The psychologist reaches for another book and sits down in a fancy couch, the memory now more vibes, with more details at hand. A red rug, wooden furniture, some kind of fire, like campfire but not quite like... a fireplace which flames seemed never to fade, like the sun.


"No." the man replies, "What is important is to make them believe they know you." the man does not smiles like he used to, he; instead, takes away Clark's glasses and stared at his eyes, "Persuasion. The art to make people do as you tell them to do. It requires that you win people's confidence, therefore you require them to trust you and you can't trust someone you don't know."


Clark makes a slow nod, trying to learn the new social skills he acquires step by step, focusing on his teachings instead of the old book, "You said, trust is the feeling control. The more trust the more confident." the young-man's eyes light up the a torch, illuminated by the sinister psychologist.






Clark moved towards the compound knowing of the information by his own informants. The Don is down, almost dead. He only needs someone to push him. "The poor old man. Another bullet is what he needs." He did not want the Don to finally meet it's destiny, but he needed to swing away the old man so a new face with new ideas acquires the power.


All the way towards the compound Clark couldn't stop smiling, thinking that maybe something good will come up with the mess, even though the men were under his command, it was not his mistake that the Don got such a fatal wound. Or was he?


The car would reach the compound with enough time to reach Marco near by the door, laying over the wall like some thug smoking cigarettes as common and usual as breathing. Clark stared at him for quite away from the car, his face expressionists for three seconds counted. "Should I advise people against smoking? Or are they doing this to bother me?" a small pause on his mind gave Clark the time to open the car's door and get out, impersonating once more "The Spider" with his cocky smile and his comfortable voice, "Wonder if they can still smoke without lips..." "Mr Baresotti." he speaks eager to hear the news from him, he close the car's door and checks on his coat's buttons, "Did Mr Torres made it out alive?" he started to move towards him.



 
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As Clark ordered before, two informants would have followed Miss Marinello to the train station, dressed like merchants with nothing to lose. They would slit up and ensure that there would be no way to escape unless by going on the train which they highly doubt it would happen. The news of the Don should have spread up already, after all they were two of the many who began the rumors.


They were also aware of Mr Cullen's irrational temper and thinking, they would use that to their advantage. One of them advise one of the officers of the station that a man was carrying a gun in public. His partner and the officer started to register the small amount people one by one though only to man that seem to be a threat, not Miss Marinello; leaving her for them only.

 

Marco Orsini Baresotti
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​


Marco was still leaning and smoking his third cigarette when the car pulled up. He had only finished writing his journal. The pencil laid on the table and the journal safely in his coat. When he looked up, he saw the Spider in front of him. He instantly stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and looked up. He was caught off guard by the Spider and the noise of Kenny inside. Mr. Torres seemed rather shaken up after the gunfight. He stared at the Spider that approached him.
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Of all the folks in the Marinello mob, the Spider was the one he was the most afraid of. The Underboss was at least rational and the Don a sweet old man with cold blood. The other Capo's were pleasant enough as were the soldiers. The Spider was the living version of hell. He could only pray he would survive the rest of the day with his fingers and his manhood. He heard what the spider had to say and looked down. He then looked up at him and stared straight into his eyes, a feat that took extreme courage on his part.
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"Mr. Torres made it out well enough sir, he's inside. He's in shock but it'll pass soon I s'pose" Marco reported. "The Don was shot a couple times in the chest by the damn Abanados, he's in the hospital with the Underboss..."
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 It was better to report the news clearly. It was better to breaker the news to him first than to sugar coat it elsewise he would be digging a hole for himself. He stood up straight. He wasn't the tallest man but he was well enough in height and made up for it with his skill in guns. He stared at him waiting for a response.
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Lorenzo Cullen
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Lorenzo had remained silent, and deep in thought as he drove to the train station. He was to absorbed by his surroundings to pay mind to Eliza. The police sirens weren't towards the bank oddly enough, today must've been a hit for the Marinellos or Abandons. But the way they cut through traffic like a buttered knife gave him  quite an eery feel.
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Leading Eliza onto the train, his hand firmly, but protectively grasping her hand as the found their seat. Something wasn't right. There wasn't  many passengers, less than a usual weekday, and he had a feeling that he could hear the faintest sound of a spider pattering around. Standing up aburbtly, he spoke for the first time in awhile, "We need to go. I have a nasty feeling that an old friend has this train locked down." Pulling up Eliza, he unholsterd his pistol and began to make their way back out.
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T H E   S P I D E R
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Clark smile grow wider slowly, not for the fact that Mr Torres or the Don were injure but the fact that Marcos seemed rather unease by his presence, trying not to scare him without any good result to it. Regardless, he had a more interesting objective under the barrel of his gun but it still too far away to have a good shot. The only way is to get closer with some support, Mr Torres was his first candidate but maybe Marcos could be persuade through as well.


"And soon more Abanados will come right up, on the train station..." "Adolfo is on the hospital? Good. The Don needs to be close to his family. I require of Mr Torres is assistance with a very 'sensitive' matter. In order to fulfill such matter I will need of your cooperation as well." The Spider spoke as he closed up to him, whispering, "I am a busy man, I hope you don't mind to tell the Marinellos I will be dealing with some pragmatic problematic. If someone asks for me, may you tell them to call me?" his smile growing thin, getting smaller as his eyes goes wide. His left hand reaching for his shoulder before letting Marcos react, "You would do that for me, would you?"



 
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The police enforcement would finally catch him waving his gun, they would start to chase him unfolding their guns as well. A whistle would be hear and right afterwards they would shoot once as a warning rather than to kill, trying to avoid the Lady on distress used as shield. "Stop!"


Meanwhile the informants would prepare the homemade weaponry, smoke grenades, to be thrown the moment the both leave the train. However, they would start acting as the rest of the crowd, scared; therefore it would be doubtful someone would distinguish the two of them. Not until the both leave the train and start shouting, "For the Abanados!" like some kind of insight to who they were, or who they pretended to be. 

 

St. Mary's Catholic Hospital 
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Old Town
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When Nestore's cab reached the curb, Adolfo and Napoleon Bonafaccio were standing on the curb smoking and cigarette and talking in low voices. Willy the Duce was absent as he was running the street operations against the Abandanos, but he had called to give his good wishes to Adolfo and prayers for the Don. 


Adolfo opened the door for Nestore and threw a five dollar bill at the cabbie to pay the meter, telling him to keep the rest as a tip. The cab drove off without a word. 


"Uncle Nestore," Adolfo said, "They have him in the operating room. The doctor said there's a lot of hope for him." 
 

Eliza L. Marinello
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Eliza sat on the train in the seat beside Lorenzo, but the feeling that something was gravely wrong still made her blood run cold. Outside of the train, she could see a couple of officers with their hands hovering over their weapons, their eyes focused on the inside of the train where they sat. Dread settled in her stomach like dead weight and she turned to Lorenzo. He sat beside her stiff as a board, and she knew he could feel something was amiss. When he stood and began pulling her out of the train, saying he believed the train could be on lock down, she followed him off. She knew it the moment the officers spotted his gun, because they unholstered their own and headed straight for Lorenzo. 
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A shot rang out and Eliza's wide eyes flung to the approaching officers. In the crowd, there were several people, frightened looks on their faces as they fought to stay out the way of the officers. Eliza stood half-behind Lorenzo, and wondered what they were going to do now.
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